A Poem
by Ned



Balance is no place
is a becoming,
a lovely tension
between holding on
and letting go
risk and safety
up and down.
Balance knows the dependable
embrace of gravity
and the impudent
grace of flight.

I do not find it in my strong fingers,
gripping the bar,
or in my spinning body,
but in the spring of rope and muscle
as I grip, release.

In the act of spinning,
balance comes and goes
achieved for an instant,
then lost in the balance
between balance and imbalance.

So my dance in air confirms
the solid earth below.
My steady footsteps explore
the bottom of the sky.